


For Your Honest Care

by printers_devil



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dacryphilia, Dirty Talk, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, FE3H Kinkmeme, Femdom, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Grief/Mourning, Men Crying, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pregnancy Discussion, Sylcedes Week (Fire Emblem), Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26638642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/printers_devil/pseuds/printers_devil
Summary: Mercedes encourages Sylvain to talk about his problems with her. Mercedes likes it very, very much when he cries.A kink meme fill, written for Sylcedes Week 2020.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 17
Kudos: 103
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme





	For Your Honest Care

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt: _Sylvain feels bad for always treating Mercedes like his therapist and tries to encourage her to vent her problems back at him, but it turns out watching him cry is both cathartic and horny for her. Guess it's time to cry during sex!!!_
> 
> Mercedes is not, how do you say, very nice in this fic. Mean Mercedes rights! Also, this fic now has art by @justonevice on twitter! Check it out [here](https://twitter.com/justonevice/status/1329607055351705604?s=21).

Tonight Sylvain was sad about his brother. 

He'd come to Mercedes's room as he always did: in a cheerful mood, with treats he'd begged from the kitchen to buy his entrance. Mercedes had told him, as she always did, that he did not need to bribe her, and that she was glad to see him. She was, it was true. In between training, and travel, and eating meals as quickly as they could, as though the food would disappear tomorrow, there was so little time to speak to one another. 

Then he'd sat on her bed tried to eke a confidence or two out of her, which she did not allow. She did not care to speak of her past or her family, not in detail, and had turned the conversation—as she always did—back toward Sylvain's feelings, and Sylvain's problems. Mercedes had long since finished the cake, and the muffins, and the tea. All she had to do was be patient. He was in the middle of recounting a time Miklan embarrassed him in front of the whole court in Fhirdiad, and the trembling in his voice that meant the tears were coming soon. 

"And the worst part?" Sylvain said.

"Yes?" Mercedes replied, though Sylvain never needed the prompting. 

"He got away with it." Sylvain sighed, his shoulders slumped. Mercedes put her arm around them. They were wonderful shoulders, and he did so like being touched when he was in these moods. "He got away with it every time. No one believed me when I said it was him, not me." 

His voice hitched, there. Any second, any moment—but then he pulled himself back from the edge, his face becoming serious once more. 

"I know what it's like," Mercedes said, "to have no one listen to you when a dreadful thing happens. It's awful not to be heard." 

He bit his lower lip. He had such a nice mouth; what a shame that in all these years they'd known one another, he'd never tried to kiss her. And still, no tears. He needed some more prodding, that was all. He always broke in the end. Mercedes took his hand in hers and squeezed it. 

"If they'd only listened to you, even once," she said, "everything might have been different." 

_There_ it was. The breaking of the dam, the cracking of the wall, a fat tear rolled down his cheek, and Mercedes pulled him into her embrace as he cried. 

His tears wet the side of her neck. Mercedes took the opportunity to fondle his upper arms. It must have been lovely, to be raised in a home where you were wanted, not just an interloper whose mother had been a convenient womb—to be raised with friends who cared for you, and to know that you would serve a king, that your life would _matter_. 

However, she had worked out this resentment the second time he'd cried at her. It wasn't worth holding onto. He was spoilt, but he was very handsome, and a good friend to her when he wasn't moping. Sunk in his misery, he gripped her tighter, and his muscles flexed beneath her touch. 

A low pulsing started up in Mercedes's thighs and between her legs. She sighed into the top of his head, playing with the hair at the base of his skull, massaging his neck. At first, she had tried to tell herself that the weeping itself was not arousing—it was the way he'd made himself vulnerable for her, the way he melted into her every touch and nodded up at her every reassurance. She tried very hard not to lie to herself. She looked forward to the tears themselves. It excited her, to hear his voice break, to watch him try to hold himself back, only to give in to the release only she could offer him. 

"There, there... I have you," Mercedes said. "This can't be comfortable, lay down with me?" 

She had never been so bold with him before. A muffled sob from Sylvain, which was, she supposed, as good as a yes. She lay down on her bed, taking him with her. In this state, he was so pliable. She arranged their bodies so that he lay atop her, silent now but for the occasional sniffle. 

"It's so nice to be held, isn't it?" she asked. "You're a good friend. I'm glad to be here for you." 

Face pressed into her chest, he nodded. How _had_ Sylvain fit into the beds in the dormitories, back in their student days, let alone had sex on them—Mercedes could not fathom it. The weight of him was a delight. The way their legs were entangled, if she moved herself in just the right way, she could press her core against his thighs. Her skirts were in the way. Slowly, slowly, so as not to alarm him, she drew them up so they were above her knees. The air of her room was cool on her shins, and she shifted a little downward. She could not risk moving against him, but this would suffice for now. She'd bring herself off thinking about this later, when he was gone and her sheets were still warm from their bodies. 

Sylvain paused in his sniffling and went quiet and still on her. "Hey, Mercedes," he said, his voice raw, "I want you to know I'm not trying to make a move, okay? That'd be a pretty shitty thing to do, even for me—" 

He began to pull away from her. Was Sylvain Jose Gautier suddenly turning up _skittish_ at a woman touching him? In a brief panic, Mercedes clutched his shoulders and said, "You don't have to say anything. I know what's in your heart. I'm comfortable with you... and I hope you feel comfortable with me, too." 

He looked awfully guilty for a moment, but her words seemed to satisfy him. He settled. His eyes closed. 

She could stand to be a bit more comfortable, and bore down more firmly on Sylvain's thigh on the pretense of holding him closer. He relaxed into her, unaware. Surely, she'd feel it if he was getting hard. Maybe he wasn't interested in her, or didn't find her beautiful? But he was interested in everyone, and he certainly hadn't stopped flirting with her outside of their little talks. 

"Still," he said, his voice muffled, "if it gets weird...." 

"I said I'd protect you, didn't I?" Mercedes replied. "Let me." 

When Sylvain finally left, her bed smelled like him. She lay down in the warm spot they'd left. There was a wet patch on the shoulder of her dress; she pressed it to the side of her mouth, and put her hand between her legs.

*

Mercedes had shed every tear she was going to about the battle at Gronder Field already on the shoulders of the older, more experienced healers. To Mercedes's eyes, all of them had seemed entirely inured to death, but slaughter on this scale had shaken them all. Even the eldest, a Knight of Seiros with gnarled hands and a bent back, had looked grim when Mercedes, still in her bloody robes, had come along with the last cartload of the wounded. _All we can do now give those beyond our help a dignified, quiet death, my children,_ the woman had said, and then she'd gone down the rows of cots to make the decisions about who should be saved and who should be sent into the Goddess's arms.

When they finally returned to Garreg Mach to rest, she felt hollow, as though someone had scraped her insides out with an axe. But there was nothing to do but pick herself up. She'd chosen this for herself; if she wanted to leave, she could go back to Fhirdiad let that awful man marry her and her Crest off to the highest bidder. 

The very next night, Sylvain came to her to talk about Duke Fraldarius. 

He was the best man Sylvain had known, a kind and devoted father and husband, the king's aegis to the very end, fearless in the fight against the Empire, and many, many other superlatives, all of which told Mercedes far less about the person Rodrigue had been and far more about the person Sylvain wished he was. 

"I'll never be that good," Sylvain concluded, staring emptily down at his lap. To his credit, he'd asked Mercedes how he was, heard her out, and comforted her before he'd turned the subject to himself. "What have I done with my life? Chased after women I didn't even like just to prove they're not worthy of me, killed a few people. But, hey, at least I make my horse happy." 

Before she could respond, he lay down on her bed of his own accord and opened his arms for her. Mercedes went, lying alongside him, her head pillowed on his collarbone. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, and a little skin was exposed. She put her hand on it, her fingertips sliding under the placket. 

"I think you're being unfair to yourself," Mercedes said. He did not seem as though he was going to cry. She would get him there. 

"Yeah? How do you figure," Sylvain replied. "What am I good for, really? This war is going to end, and I'm either going to be dead, or my father is going to marry me off to whatever grasping noble family has a spare daughter and a lot of money." 

It was always Crests with him. Mercedes wasn't unsympathetic. She slid her fingers in further, so her hand was half on his chest. She felt his heartbeat under her palm, and her own kicked up faster in response. She had left off her undergarments, in the event that she worked up the courage to _do_ something about how aroused she became when he wept. She rubbed her bare legs together under her dress, glad he couldn't see what was in her heart. 

He didn't remark on the touch, but kept speaking: "It's just—Glenn and Felix seemed so happy, and I thought, if I was a Fraldarius, just the second son of three, it wouldn't matter if I did or didn't have a Crest—" 

"Ah... you wished Lord Rodrigue was your father," Mercedes said.

_I've tried three different fathers, and I just can't recommend the experience,_ she thought, but that might make him laugh, or worse, make him ask questions. She needed him sunk in his own misery. 

"Yeah, it's stupid, I know," he replied. "When I was at my worst, sometimes I thought—Felix didn't deserve him and Glenn—" His voice broke. "I thought it at the service, just to see how it'd feel. Terrible, as it turns out."

"You're not terrible." Mercedes nestled in closer to him. "It's just a feeling. Why, even I have awful thoughts sometimes, and I know the Goddess forgives me."

"Yeah, but the Goddess isn't here," said Sylvain, "we are."

Mercedes let that go. If he wasn't faithful, that was his business. What would make him cry, what would make him the most upset now.... "If there's only us, there isn't any point to any of this," said Mercedes. "Would you like me to agree with you? To tell you that you're awful?"

She sounded a bit sharp on _awful_ , and Sylvain's gaze, which had been aimed toward the ceiling, fixed on her.

"Mercie," he began, his voice raw with feeling, but she shook her head.

"I don't think that," Mercedes said. She patted his chest. "We've both just been through something awful. We've killed our old friends and classmates, or watched them die. Poor Bernadetta... you struck the killing blow, didn't you? I heard you rode through the flames to end her. Someone had to. Everyone said you were very brave, but you were so afraid. Edelgard used and discarded her, I'm sure it feels just awful to have been a part of it."

A hard sniff. He'd been very sweet to Bernadetta when they were students, from what Mercedes could recall. He wiped the back of his arm over his eyes and left it there, and Mercedes thrilled to that little motion.

"Sorry," said Sylvain. "I get like this with you. I don't know what it is."

"I've told you, I like you better when you're honest." She pulled his arm away from his face to look at his wetted cheeks. 

"Do you really?" he asked. "It can't be fun, watching me cry like"—he wiped his face again—"like this."

He had no idea. With one hand on his chest to keep him down, Mercedes bent over him and kissed the tears from his face. He went very still at the touch of her lips. 

"It's fine!" she said, sitting up. His brow was knitted with confusion. "You don't get to decide whether you're a good person, the people around you do. Perhaps you _would_ like me to repeat what you've told me, that you're selfish and callous? That you use women and discard them like handkerchiefs because you don't like yourself?"

"I..."

While Sylvain groped for words, she rubbed that hand up and down the bare skin of his chest, up the side of his neck, to hold his chin so he had to look her in the eyes. She could stop now, but she felt so hot all over, and Sylvain wouldn't say no to her. 

"It just sounds different coming from you," Sylvain said, at last. "I guess I deserve it, though."

"I wouldn't say that," Mercedes said, "but perhaps you should try being the one used and discarded, just to see how it feels."

She pulled up her skirts, and she straddled his lean hips, looking up the long plane of his body. With fingers that felt thick and clumsy, she began undoing his buttons.

Sylvain's mouth dropped open, and his hands came up, as if to push her away, or to hold onto her. He himself didn't look as though he was sure of what to do. He wasn't hard beneath her, but he would be.

"I don't need your Crest baby, Sylvain," said Mercedes, "not when my own Crest is so very much in demand. It's safe to do this with me."

A tear squeezed out of the corner of his eye, and Mercedes lowered her mouth to his face to lick it up. She reached down to feel at his cock through his trousers.

He drew a hard breath in surprise. "Mercedes, I don't think you want this—"

"I do," she replied. "Don't you?"

He stared down the front of her dress, now. He was usually so virtuous about meeting her eyes. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, okay." He took one of her breasts and kneaded it hard; he had big hands, but her flesh overflowed them.

Mercedes sighed. Her skin felt tight, and she pushed her bare pussy against the growing bulge in the front of his trousers. "Touch both of them, please," she said.

With a quick, practiced motion, Sylvain tugged down her dress and pulled her breasts free of the fabric so they were both exposed to the air. The cold of the room made her nipples harden to painful points. He squeezed again, his warm, rough palms rubbing over them, sending lightning-shocks between her thighs. He fondled and pinched her until both their breaths came faster, then drew her up to suck one of her nipples into his mouth, reverently, his reddened eyes wide open and fixed on hers.

"That feels nice, doesn't it," she said, her back arching with pleasure. This wasn't the first time someone had touched her like this, but it was the first time someone she liked quite so much as she did Sylvain had. "Keep going. You can use your teeth, if you like."

Immediately, his teeth grazed her with just the right amount amount of force to make her squirm and moan. She reached between them to feel just how wet she was, how ready. He'd gotten hard beneath her, the heavy bulge of his cock straining against his trousers. Mercedes ran her hand over it, tracing its length. 

"Oh, this is big. Now I see what all those girls saw in you," she said. "Is that what you want me to say? Do you want me to tell you this is all you're good for? We both know it's not true."

She took a firm hold of his cock. He released her breast from his mouth with a wet _pop,_ shoving himself up into her touch.

"Maybe you want to tell you you're not good for anything," Mercedes went on. "Would you cry for me again, if I told you how worthless you were?"

"Please, Mercedes," Sylvain said, rubbing his cheek and nose over the smooth skin of her breast. "Come on, take it out, touch me."

"Not until you're truthful," she said, "not until you show me the real you. Whenever you're ready... I'm in no rush."

She was in a rush. She wanted nothing more than to slide his trousers down around his ankles and take his cock inside her, but she pressed herself into the hard ridge of him, holding him down, enjoying the rough feel of the fabric on her clit. Sylvain's brow knitted. She cupped one of her breasts and offered it up to him, and he took it in his mouth again: first one, then the other. His groan as she rode him, denied him, reverberated through her whole body. 

"Mercedes, I've wanted to fuck you for so long," Sylvain said at last, speaking into the side of one of her breasts. "For years and years. I keep coming to you thinking I'm going to get you to talk about yourself for once, but then we get going and I start crying, I don't know why I'm like this—"

"Because you're finally being honest with yourself," Mercedes said. "It feels so much better, don't you think? You should be rewarded."

She'd teased him long enough. Sitting back on his lap, she undid the front of his trousers and eased his cock out. It wasn't excessively thick, but it was longer than she'd thought it would be, with a thick, lovely foreskin, and it stood up hard and proud against his belly. She rubbed a finger over his slit, smearing his precome around, and pulled her dress up around her waist.

"Oh, Goddess, I'm dreaming," he said, looking from her bare pussy to her naked breasts hanging down over the bodice of her dress. She was sure she looked lewd, and that the sight wasn't anything compared to what he'd seen in the past, but none of those other women were here. _She_ was. He reached out and ran his hand over her mound, his fingers delving between their bodies with a practiced motion. He'd have looked mischievous, but his eyes were still puffy and swollen from crying. 

Mercedes rode his hand eagerly. It was so much better than touching herself, or any of the other clumsy attempts she'd endured over the past five years. With her free hand, she grasped his cock hard at the base. She did not have to stroke him; he thrust his hips hard into the circle of her hand.

The motion of Sylvain's fingers grew erratic, unstudied. It felt no less good for that; anything would have felt good. 

"Don't make me beg, Mercedes," he groaned. "Please, I'll—I'll tell you whatever you want, just let me put it in." 

"I'm so happy to hear that," she said. 

She took pity on him, poor thing. She rose up on her knees and sank down on his cock, taking him in one slow, easy glide. He would not fit all the way inside of her, and his length made her toes curl and her breath catch. This was not her first time with a man. Her first time hardly bore thinking about, especially not now. But she had never taken anyone so deep, nor had she had anything larger than her own fingers inside of her in quite some time. And still, there was more. With a choked noise, Sylvain pressed up into her, filling her entirely, and still, there was more of him to take.

"Oh," Mercedes said, shifting fitfully back and forth on him. She had bitten off a bit more than she could chew, it seemed. 

"Let me make you feel good," Sylvain said. His strong hands clutched her soft thighs, then her waist, then her arms, as though he could not decide what he wanted to touch most. He looked her over as though she was his private miracle, and the reverence in his eyes made her believe it, just for a moment. 

Then he took her around the waist and eased her down so they lay chest to chest. He dragged her hips upward, then drove her down onto him. She drew in a hard breath through her nose at the feeling that spiraled through her. "Just like that," he said. "I'll do all the work, you relax." 

She did. He kept speaking—filthy things, _Mercedes, your pussy is so good, you're so wet, use me up. He moved her on him—she used him, the way she said she'd would. Her fingers bit into his broad shoulders as the tension in her grew, until she was wound so tight she was sure she would snap._

__

__

He understood; he knew what he was doing. He offered her his hand, and she pressed herself into his seeking fingers on his every upward stroke. His clever, clever hand—she came, so suddenly that her knees clamped down on his thighs, and she began shouting her release before she covered her mouth to keep it in. The second orgasm came more slowly, but was no less fierce for it, and she bit him to keep quiet. 

When she'd had her pleasure, she lay on him in a daze as he moved her on him, now in a steady rhythm, chasing his own end. The only sound in the room was his labored breathing, so loud she was sure any passer-by from the greenhouse might hear him. He inhaled hard, and distantly, she felt him become hard as stone inside her, and then the warmth of his come flooding her. 

At this, she sat up on him, blinking rapidly. His cheeks were pink from exertion, his hair stuck to his forehead, the bite mark she'd left on his shoulder standing out in high relief against his pale skin. He was still hard, but he assuredly couldn't last much longer. 

She felt loose around him, and wetter with his come. "Sylvain...." she began, 

Sylvain, at least, seemed genuinely horrified. "Shit, Mercedes, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to do that—"

"I'm sure you didn't!" Mercedes said. "I'm sure you just weren't thinking, It's fine." 

It really had been quite a lot. She frowned, considering the mess that would be on her sheets the moment their bodies parted. 

Whatever Sylvain read into that frown made him tremble and squeeze his eyes shut. Mercedes reached down and ran a finger over his eyelids. "I'm not angry with you at all," she said. It would be cruel of her to make him weep now, but she could certainly think about it. "Suppose I did want your Crest baby, and suppose you'd just put one inside of me. Tell me, how did it feel to be used?" 

She touched her clit as she spoke. His cock was still hard inside of her, softening by the moment. 

"I'd take care of it," he said, his eyes opening wide. He looked panicked. "I'd take care of you, I swear—"

"How did it feel," Mercedes repeated. 

"Good," Sylvain gasped, watching her rub at herself. "It felt so good—Mercedes, that's too much, please—" 

"Not until I've finished," she said. 

He fidgeted beneath her. His lips parted, and he very nearly whined, and she swore she felt his cock twitch inside her. He did not grow hard again, however, and at the sight of his agonized face, she came around him yet again. It was no less satisfying than it had been the last two times. 

She patted his chest. He stared up at her, eyes damp once again at the overstimulation. It was such a beautiful sight, and she paused to take it in fully, fixing it in her memory. 

Finally, she levered herself off of him, and there was, in fact, a mess on her sheets. She shifted closer to the wall to avoid lying directly in it, and turned her face toward Sylvain. 

"You make me feel so safe," she said, kissing his cheek gently, nuzzling him with the tip of her nose. "Thank you for being such a wonderful friend, Sylvain. You can leave now." 


End file.
